


From A Distance

by Catherine_Toast



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Toast/pseuds/Catherine_Toast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rainy night.  A pair of binoculars. A depressed Michonne. Seeing something unexpected through a distant window does her heart good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From A Distance

Cold. 

Cold and wet. 

Cold and wet and pissed off. 

The anger always seemed to simmer just under her skin these days. Michonne had a sudden urge to draw her katana and slash viciously at the rain sheeting down around her, as if by sheer violence she could defeat its icy bite as it blurred her vision and soaked into her shoes.

Seeing as this whim was counterproductive and borderline insane, she left the sword sheathed on her back and followed Rick and Carl through the muddy woods toward the rooftops they could only just make out in the distance. 

After what seemed like a lifetime of silent, seething trudging, the woods ended and there stood the buildings. It was a group of old, cheap, two story apartments. Michonne eyed the sagging roofs, peeling paint, and the rickety stairs. They looked as if they had been abandoned long before the walkers came and left to crumble.

“Any port in a storm,” thought Michonne, not holding much hope for the dilapidated homes. Rick quickly scanned the area, then headed up an outdoor stairway to a door. It opened with a bit of force, and the three of them cautiously slipped inside, made a quick search, and were relieved to find the apartment free of walkers, furnished, and most importantly, dry with most of the windows still intact. They set to work securing it for the night.

Not long later Michonne was sitting in front of a lit fireplace, in dry clothes (that were men's and much too big - not that she cared), eating a can of re-fried beans and drinking a can of coke. Yes, this apartment was a good find, they had been lucky. There was food, clothing, tools, and three other buildings around the cul de sac, each with four apartments in them yet to be searched. If even a couple of the others had the supplies they found in this one, they would have more than they could carry - enough to keep them going for weeks.

Warm and dry and full, she pulled an arm chair over to the picture window and watched the rain fall. It wasn't making her angry anymore. From this side of the glass it seemed calming. Peaceful. Still, her mind worried on the future. The future always seemed too big lately, stretching endlessly out before her. It felt like a death march. She wondered if the walkers would get her, or if she'd just be walking until she died, until her heart stopped beating and she collapsed on the railroad tracks.

Rick was dozing on the sofa, and Carl was searching the apartment, putting anything possibly useful onto the kitchen table to be sorted later.

He came out from the bedroom with another armload. Michonne deftly reached behind her and   
swiped a pair of binoculars from the top of the stack as he passed. He smiled and kept walking.

Michonne toyed with the binoculars, hoping to see into some of the other apartments, to get an idea of what might be left in them, or if there were any walkers inside, but the rain obscured her vision. All she could make out was that some had furniture in them but most appeared empty, the windows broken.

The only walker she saw was two buildings over, on the second floor. She just barely caught the movements as he passed by a bedroom window. She watched a while longer and eventually distinguished two of them, but they were difficult to make out through the rain and the ragged curtains.

“What ya looking at?” asked Carl, flopping into a nearby chair.

“Walkers,” she said simply.

“A lot of them?” he asked, with a note of concern hovering at the edge of his voice.

“Nah. Just two, I think. Over in that building. They're probably trapped up there.” He grunted an acknowledgment and picked up a magazine. Michonne set down the binoculars and watched the rain patter against the window. She sank deeper into the plush chair. Sleep overtook her.

The world flooded. The waters rose and washed away all the walkers. Michonne was on the deck of the ship under a blue sky. The ship had a big wooden steering wheel and Rick tan and shirtless at the helm. “Don't worry, we're almost there!” said a voice behind her. She turned and saw Glenn, in a tuxedo, dancing with Maggie in a blue ballgown. Everyone from the prison was there, dressed in their finery. They were dancing without music. She realized the ship was really a ballroom with a ceiling painted to look like the sky. Andrea was holding her arm, wearing pearls around her neck and long white gloves to her elbows. And then there was a crash, and the room shook, and water was seeping in. Everyone kept dancing, unconcerned. Michonne ran, ran up a flight of stairs and into a carpeted hallway that stretched out endlessly. She ran and ran and the carpet under her feet turned to railroad tracks that were infinite. She felt her chest tighten. Thunder crashed.

Michonne was jolted awake by the storm raging outside. The lightening and thunder crashed again as she came out of the haze of the dream and back to reality. It was pitch black outside and the rain still fell heavily. Her heart beat hard from the dream. She saw Rick's reflection in the window as he approached her from behind. She quickly wiped a tear from her cheek before he got close enough to see.

“Hey,” she said softly, as he pulled a chair up to the window beside her and sat down.

“It's quite a storm. Glad we're not out in that tonight.” Michonne nodded in silent agreement. “Maybe the rain will melt the walkers. Like the Wicked Witch of the West,” he added. Michonne smiled.

“Maybe.” She almost opened her mouth to tell Rick about the dream, about the flood and the ballroom when Rick stood up.

“Is that a light over there?” he asked, pointing toward another building. Michonne stood up beside him. She squinted and quickly saw what he was talking about. There seemed to be a light coming from one of the second story windows. She reached for the binoculars on the arm of her chair, but Rick was too fast and grabbed them first.

“That's the same apartment I saw two walkers in earlier,” she explained.

“You sure it was walkers you saw?” Rick said, with a tone of amusement.

“Pretty sure. Why?” 

“'Cause I ain't never seen a walker give head before,” Rick said, eyes watering as he tried to choke back laughter. Michonne's mouth fell open for just a moment.

“What?” she snatched the binoculars out of his hands. Sure enough, through that same window where she had seen what she thought were walkers, she now saw two very much living bodies outlined by an artificial light source behind them. The larger, male figure was sitting on the edge of a bed leaning back, propped up on his arms. Kneeling in front of him, her figure half concealed by his leg, was the woman, her light colored hair falling in all directions. She couldn't see them clearly, but the movements were unmistakeable.

Michonne lowered the binoculars and looked at Rick. His arms were crossed and he was smirking. “I'm right, aren't I?”

“Yeah,” Michonne agreed, smiling. “I know a blowjob when I see one.”

“Do you now?” grinned Rick, still staring out the window, and Michonne elbowed him playfully, as the thunder crashed again.

Carl padded out from the bedroom where he had been sleeping. Rick cleared his throat.

“Storm wake you up, son?” asked Rick.

“Yeah. What are you looking at?” he asked Michonne, who had returned the binoculars to her eyes and was once again peering out into the darkness.

“Nothing!” exclaimed Rick

“People having sex,” said Michonne at the same time.

“Really?” asked Carl, ignoring his father. “Can I see?” Michonne reached to hand him the binoculars, as Rick loudly said

“No!” and intercepted the pass. He stared at Michonne as if she had grown a third head. Michonne rolled her eyes at him and turned away. Carl let out a malcontented grunt. 

Rick took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Look, none of us should be watching this. This is a private act between two people. Let them have their privacy, the same as any of us would want. It's not okay to be watching them through binoculars. Take a second and think about how creepy that is.” Carl looked chagrined, but Michonne was unmoved.

“Yeah, but there's no tv here, so...” and she grabbed back the binoculars and plunked down into her chair. Carl laughed. Rick looked at Michonne and then Carl and then Michonne again.

“You're a grown woman and you can do what you like, but Carl,” he turned toward his son, “I don't want you peering into other peoples bedrooms like a peeping tom. You understand?” Carl nodded. He glared once more at Michonne who was already too preoccupied with the binoculars to notice. He stalked off to the kitchen. Carl sat down silently in the chair vacated by his father. He leaned toward the window, squinting into the darkness.

“Are they still doing it?” he asked.

“Yeah. He's going down on her.” As it passed from her lips it somehow sounded more vulgar than she'd intended. She quickly added: “I think. It's hard to make out exactly.” It was a bit of a lie. The man's dark hair made it easy to see where his head was in relation to her body. Her cream colored legs were splayed open, contrasting to the dark blanket beneath her. Unless he was performing a very thorough gynecological exam, Michonne knew exactly what was going on. The woman arched up from the bed, and Michonne felt the faintest stirrings of desire inside herself. She knew what it was like to have a lover between her legs, to have someone who knew every part of her, knew just where to touch her to bring her to the edge and over. He was long gone now, but she still remembered. Remembered too much sometimes.

“Could it be anyone we know?” Carl asked hopefully, still looking out the window toward the light, “maybe Glenn and Maggie?” It took Michonne a second to disengage from her own thoughts and answer the question.

“Nah, sorry. Definitely not Maggie. Her hair's long and light colored.” Carl deflated. “But maybe they've run across others from the prison,” she added. 

“Yeah, we should try to talk to them. Tomorrow, after the rain stops.”

“Yes, we should,” agreed Rick, returning to the room with a bag of beef jerky. “We'll have to be careful, but if they're amenable, I think it would be valuable to exchange information. Who knows, maybe they have seen some of the others.” He glared again at Michonne, who was looking through the binoculars. “And the more you watch them screw the more awkward it's going to be to talk to them.” Carl stifled a chuckle at hearing his father say 'screw.'

“I can live with awkward,” said Michonne, without shifting her gaze. She was too wrapped up in it now. She couldn't look away. She was determined to sound light and breezy, even as the figures shifted and her heart beat harder. “Ah. Missionary position. Excellent choice. Classic. Can I have some of that jerky?” She held out her hand and Rick reluctantly put a couple pieces into it. She mumbled a thanks and kept watching.

“Who do you think they are?” asked Carl. “I mean, do you think that's their house? Or did they just come in from the rain, like us?”

“I dunno,” said Michonne through a mouthful of jerky. “I assumed they were just crashing there, but I guess it's possible this was always their home. And they just … stayed. Just said 'End of the world be damned, we're gonna stay in this shitty little apartment.'” From his position lying on the couch Rick chimed in:

“Or maybe they haven't noticed yet. Maybe they've been locked in there for two years, just fuckin'” Carl didn't bother to hold in his laughter this time, it was too funny, and Michonne put down the binoculars and whipped around in her seat to stare at Rick before bursting into laughter too. 

“You're a romantic,” she teased. 

But it was a romantic idea, really, that a couple could be so in love, so caught up in each other, they didn't even notice the apocalypse happening outside their window. Michonne returned to watching. It seemed a long time the man was on top of her, rocking in a slow rhythm, as Carl gave up on squinting into the dark and leafed through a book. The sound of light snoring drifted over from the couch.

The couple rolled over, with the woman on top and she sat astride him and leaned forward. To kiss him? Whisper to him? Her hair hung down long and shiny, concealing both her face and his. A realization hit Michonne then, that this was no one night stand. This wasn't a quick release, or a hard fuck to forget the world for a few moments. This was two people in love. They were making love, and although she couldn't hear them, she knew they were whispering words of love, impossible promises, silly, teasing, laughing phrases. For the first time she felt shame at her intrusion. Still, she couldn't bring herself to look away. 

She needed to see this. She needed to know this kind of love still existed, no matter how fucked up the world was. This, more than shelter or safety or plans for the future, was giving her hope. Not for herself. No, she doubted she would ever find that kind of love again. Like Rick, she had had it once, and it was ripped away. But for others, there was still time. She thought of Maggie and Glenn, and wondered if they were safe and together somewhere, making slow sweet love. She thought of Carl, still so young, and the not so impossible idea that the young woman for him might be out there, alive, surviving against all odds. There was still pain in Michonne's chest, but now it mixed with hope. With possibility. 

Then the motions in the far away room shifted, and the man was back on top and moving more quickly. It was a primal rhythm. Michonne silently cheered him on. After all, she was rooting for the home team. For people. For the living.

He was fucking her and in Michonne's mind it became a fuck you to the walkers, a fuck you to the Governor, and everyone like him. A fuck you to death itself. It was a primal rhythm. Like a rain dance, but instead of rain it brought life. It created life. The dance that had sustained half a million generations still went on, more precious than water to this dry dead parched earth.

And then it was over, and the figures stilled. She watched the tangle of bodies lying sated in the bed until they turned the light out, and the scene fell to darkness. The rain was letting up a bit, and the thunder and lightening had stopped. The storm was over. Sleep came to Michonne. It was deep and dreamless.

The morning light was harsh and bright. It reflected off the wet road, and windows of the building she had stared at for so long in the night. She picked up the binoculars and it took some time to adjust her eyes to the sunlight. The bed was empty. She watched for some time, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, but there was no movement through the windows. She had overslept, and the couple was gone. She thought of waking Carl and Rick, of looking for footprints and tracking the couple as men stalk deers. She dismissed the thought, and relaxed back into her armchair, curling her feet beneath her, waiting for the sun to finish rising above the refreshed earth.

Before the trio moved on, they searched the apartments. Most were empty, or nearly so. She saved the couple's apartment until last. There wasn't much there, just some sparse furniture. A few empty cans. A bed with rumpled covers was the only evidence of what had transpired there last night. The kitchen cupboards were empty, but on the counter was a spoon, its handle broken off and missing. She puzzled over it for a moment before moving on.

It was better this way, maybe, thought Michonne. To have never seen them in the daylight. To have never spoken to them. She didn't want them to be really real. She wanted to keep them hers. She would always see them in her mind as they were, through the pounding rain and the curtain thin as gauze, she would remember them as the fuzzy picture of love and passion and reason to live. Her pack was heavier now, filled with their new found bounty, but her heart was lighter.

(Not far away at all, in the wet Georgia woods, Daryl Dixon and Beth Greene walked hand in hand. And although the damp ground seeped through their shoes and soaked their socks, they couldn't seem to keep the smiles off of their faces. The third finger of her left hand, like the lyric of an Tom Waits song he had once heard her sing, glinted a ring made from a spoon.)

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise Bethyl for you! (Or maybe not such a surprise if you know me, lol) 
> 
> Sorry to the people who follow me for taking so long to post a second story. I kept wimping out. Love you all!


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